vandal run
by pozarpel
Summary: After all this time, her best friend doesn't trust her to love him. She resents that.
1. night 1

Sixty seconds of Kido's vulnerability is all it takes.

Her skin's hot and her blood's cold, and there's no use lying in bed. She glances desperately at the ipod at her bedside, but her heart is pounding and her head is clouded and peace of mind is unavailable on every playlist. By then it feels like she's been lying in that clenching atmosphere for too long a time—even though it's been roughly 20 seconds since her eyes shot open. She pushes herself up to a slow stand.

Kido walks hard on the worst of days; the same cannot be said for her bad nights. The hesitance slows her whole body down. A curled knuckle, a twitch of the toes—the creaking floorboards make her think of falling beams with crushing weight, and houses too big and too lonely.

She drifts out into the hallway and follows the swatches of moonlight splayed across the wall, and comes face to face with the last door. Kano's door. It seems very different in dusk than in daylight. She stops there and swears she must have gone slack and stopped breathing with the onset of all these looping, troubling, floundering thoughts.

She's in that taxing state of mind, suspended between drowsiness and overthought, where the slightest artifice of light turns terrifying and the foulest words seem like poetry so long as they're there and they're human.

So went her thought process on that night: even Kano's mockery was a welcome comfort. Even his stupidest jokes. His nastiest lies. Anything to get the soot and sulfur to pass from her mind, anything to rid herself of death dreams. There are nights when nightmares scathe her, and when she wakes up wide-eyed, everything, everything seems warped and unbearable. Leaves her dry-mouthed and shaking and pitiful. Her options are few.

She just remembers that nights spent bundled up with him were always good nights. Regardless of how long ago—or how childish—

He won't laugh at her if she's crying. And she feels like she just might; she's so numb and so cold by then that it feels like the tears will just slip out. Consequences and dignity be damned, Kido thinks tiredly, closing her fingers around the doorknob. Kano owes her. And for all his faults, he can at least understand, sometimes. When she needs it. Better than anyone. It's because he's so clever, and because he knows how it feels even if it never shows—that's just Kano.

The door creaks open and she shuffles a foot inside, a word on her lips, not any decided word. Maybe a name? She closes her eyes and thinks she'd hate for it to sound like a plea, even as she's trembling. At the first syllable, though, she realizes that Kano hasn't gotten a word in first as he so usually takes the pleasure of doing. Kano's a really light sleeper, she knows (it's paranoia) and she wonders if he's really so exhausted as to pass out-

She looks, and he's not there. The lighting is dim, but all she can see is his bedsheets swaddled up over his empty bed, and he's not anywhere else.

She forgets about her gaping loneliness, emboldened by this ostensible emergency—although it gets her heart jumping so fast that it aches. She looks around for a few seconds just to be sure, and enters further in, sitting down on his bed with a tight frown. She takes a deep, shaking breath. The oxygen does her good in a corporeal sense, but Kano's still not there.

She thinks: I need to think.

Kano usually tells her when he leaves for the night, when he goes and does his underground business. It's for their sake—she's always trusted him about that. She doesn't mind if he breaks the law. But there was such a thing as _communication_. She hugs her knees on the corner of his bed. The air around her runs cold with betrayal. She needed him—she needs him. She must have forgotten how elusive he could be, how easily he slipped away, that consummate trickster, that irresponsible little bastard, it wasn't fair to expect anything of him, it's not like he knew she'd come to him whimpering that night, but— but—

Why'd he have to go away without saying a word? Didn't he know she'd catch him eventually? Didn't he know she'd worry?

At least he's distracted her this way. She's only scared for herself in a different way. A little angrier. She resolves not to say a word, though. She could go looking for him, but the city is big and Kano's disguises are infinite and the underground is a place she's long left behind. She's almost positive he's there. Doing something stupid. Why else would he not tell her? She pinches herself. She's worrying like a scorned mother.

Then she has a clearer idea. She'll call him up—she doesn't know what to say, but she'll say something. _Come back right now. _She moves to get up to retrieve her phone, but spots his settled innocuously on top of his drawer. She almost wants to throw it.

In the end, there's really nothing to do but wait. And she'll wait. At least she's in his room. She would have left in a rush of embarrassment already. It's only now coming to her how silly it was to pay a 2 a.m. visit to Kano in hopes of, something, something-or-other, snuggling, comfort, whatever. More than silly. She would have crept back into her bed hot-faced and regretful, but now she figures she has to wait out this absence. She only feels the slightest doubt; otherwise, Kido is positive that Kano will come back. She doesn't want to think about the alternatives.

(0)(0)(0)

At 4:17 a.m., Kido, wide awake, hears scuttling and heavy breathing outside of the window. In one swift movement, she leaps up and stands by the door opposite to Kano's one window. She ratchets her concealment up, and she watches silently, as Kano pulls himself up and in and tumbles over his bed. He sits up and rubs his neck, unaware. Upon seeing he's unharmed, Kido decides to leave—she thought about it. If she slapped him right there and then, she might never learn where he'd gone. She'd save it for later.

She did notice one thing, though. A whiff of a coppery, cold smell on him.

She watches him shut the window, and she slips out the door, unseen and unheard and unnoticed.

(0)(0)(0)

Kido didn't get much else sleep that night. At 6:30, she hears Seto stirring around the house, getting ready to head to work at the shop for the day—she scrambles out of bed, slips on clothes in a rush, and meets him out in the hallway. He looks at her oddly and opens his mouth, but Kido pulls her index finger to her lips_. Shh. _

He gives her a slow nod, and she seems relieved. In the next second, she's herding him down the hallway and out the door.

"You look kind of awful," is the first thing he says, and she didn't even think of that but she supposes it's true. A little pallid, a little strung out. Wrought with worry and dark rings lining her eyes. She sighs.

"Can I walk with you to work, or will I only embarrass you with these awful looks?"

"Nah, I—I'd be happy if you walked with me to work. You know I didn't mean it like that." He punches her in the shoulder. Usually that was dandy between the two hardy members of the Dan, and she would slap him on the back in return, but she only jolts and rubs for a moment. He doesn't seem to notice, and starts along his commute. "So what's wrong?"

"Kano," she grumbles. Seto chooses to laugh, of all things.

"No, it's worse than that," she starts, "I—it's serious. I went into his room last night, at about 2 a.m., and he wasn't there. He didn't tell you anything about that, did he?"

Seto contemplates this. "Nope," he says, and has the decency to look troubled. "Maybe he forgot."

"No way," Kido responds harshly. "He's hiding something."

They stop at the intersection, and Seto turns to her with a smile. "Don't you trust him?"

"Doesn't he trust me? He should tell me if he's going to sneak out in the middle of the night."

"Maybe it's something awkward."

Kido thinks of Kano meeting with a girl in the dead of night, and frowns her biggest frown yet. "He should still say something beforehand."

"So you can talk him out of it?" Seto asks, doubtful, and begins to cross the street. Kido knows he doesn't want to be late for work, but she's annoyed at having to match his big stride. It's too early for this. She wishes Seto would be agreeable.

"Someone needs to take responsibility for that guy."

"Kano should take responsibility for himself, right?"

"Whose side are you on?"

He stops again on the other side of the road, frowning at her helplessly. "I just don't want you guys to get into a fight over this is all. It's probably nothing."

"Do you know something and you're not telling me?" she fixes him with a stare, and she sees his discomfort before he simply turns and slips away again.

"That's not it," he says, and she follows him, arms folded and steps heavy on the pavement.

"Then I have a favor to ask," Kido starts, and Seto turns to gawk at her.

"No."

"Seto—"

"I'm sorry, but no."

"Come _on_. I need to know what he was doing." She figured he would catch on despite whatever nice pretense she tried to construct. He would be perfect for this, and the problem would be solved. But his steadfast opposition to utilizing his power on people was so stubborn. She would admire it if it wasn't giving her such trouble.

Seto sighs and stops in the middle of the sidewalk again, placing his hand over her shoulder. "Then, um, first, can I ask how you came to be in Kano's room at 2 a.m. to begin with?" No such thing as _if you don't mind my asking. _Naturally. Seto didn't have that kind of tact. They felt tact was superficial anyway, and it had no place between the three of them. Still—

She wavers, drawing her mouth straight shut to prevent sputtering. She hadn't seen that coming.

"I left my ipod there while I was cleaning," she says, slow and quiet.

Oh, there, she's gone and abandoned her tattered scruples just as Kano might, but with nowhere near the mastery. Seto turns his head away with a concentrated effort and a forced smile—he's disappointed, it's written there plain as day.

"I see."

At least he won't pursue it. But now he definitely won't help her. It's not that she feared for judgement—never, from Seto—but she knew if she told him two words about nightmares and momentary weakness, he'd get too concerned too fast. So she lets the blatant lie hang between them instead. Two blocks down, they come to the flower shop, and Kido reaches out for Seto's big folded sleeve.

"You won't help me?" she asks, subdued and soft. Seto has a weak point for that, but she's not consciously exploiting it. She knows he won't, and why force it? She stares at her feet. She feels absolutely rebuked for lying.

Seto turns to face her, the shop doorway behind him. "You could just as easily ask him," he suggests brightly, though the mirth doesn't reach his face.

She doesn't even consider that possibility—looking quite miserable about it, she gives voice to the fear that comes with loving someone like Kano. Hushed and incredulous: "You actually think he'll tell me the truth?"

The other boy can't say a thing to that.


	2. night 2

Kido's guarded and Kano's perceptive, and that's the way it's always been—he sees right through her, and she lets him in if the risk factor allows for it. Over the next month, things are a little different. Kido is well aware that she's acting strangely around Kano, and so it's almost insulting that he doesn't notice a thing. There's a distraction.

Whatever it is, he's wrapped up in it something fierce.

Kido considers the great injustice of their relationship: if Kano wants to know what she's thinking, he need only look long enough to figure it out on his own. If that doesn't work, then sooner or later through her own damned weakness, she spills her hideous, quivering guts out to him to pick at—stupid, _stupid. _

Inversely, Kano is esoteric territory. She doesn't have his instant insight—she's the blindfolded of the blindfold gang, she thinks grimly— and Kano never, ever, ever bares himself to her. It hurts. It hurts. She's the leeching party, the needy half, and he's been playing her since day one. The futility of it all leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

But damn it, cutting Kano out of her life, tumorous though he may seem at the time, is not an option. Not this far in. Not ever.

For all of June, she pitches glares at him behind his back. They're hurt, mostly. He acts just the same as normal, but with markedly less interest in her affairs, and funny that's so, since her affairs that month center around consummate liar, insensitive bastard Shuuya Kano. He'd play at flattery for it, she's sure. And isn't that the problem? She only knows what he'd play at. She knows his fake faces and his indifferent veneers and veils real well, but whatever lies behind is so unfairly unavailable. Literally unavailable.

She feels like she can't turn to him, can't say a thing, and so she deals with it all on her own while he does whatever. That's the main difference. She's clipped in her dealings with him, but he doesn't seem to mind. He looks out the window or leaves the apartment, and Kido sits and regrets in his absence, regrets this useless attachment and the way that he is and her own shortcomings.

And she doesn't strike him even once for weeks, doesn't touch him at all. He already feels like a ghost, with the way he comes and goes.

She's never able to catch him, though.

She takes to the task with the kind of seriousness reserved for real missions, and feels like she's tailing a stranger with five separate criminal convictions. Kano has that kind of smile sometimes. But he's too clever to get convicted, really. And too clever to get caught.

And as far as she could tell, slouching against his door or peeking into the alleyway adjacent to his room or into his room itself, he doesn't leave HQ in the dead of night again. She does a lot of thinking about this.

Was it only a one time thing? He didn't seem remotely close to broaching the subject with her of his own volition. She has no means to coerce him into telling the truth, and no chance of finding it if she doesn't catch him in the act. It does occur to her to wonder if her suspicions are silly, if she's reading too much into this. If she's simply having problems letting go. It's incensing. These days, Kano has been little else but.

Still, she doesn't give up just yet.

(0)(0)(0)

"Say, Kido," Kano says, one foot over the kitchen tile. Kido gives him a look that roughly translates to _take your piquant greetings and shove it. _She's tired, and outside of her regular exasperation, additionally a bit sour about Kano's excess of energy, his swinging stride and perennial grin—but then, if he was tired too, she'd never know it.

She mulls this over, sways a bit, softens up. "Yeah?"

"Are you unhappy?"

It's odd, because she hadn't been expecting this from him at all. Lategame concern, unwelcome and unwanted. The wooden spoon and the plot thud neatly over the stove, her fingers slack around the handles. It's odd, because she knows the answer right away, and the answer is no answer at all:

"Are _you_ unhappy?"

She doesn't dare turn. (Looking at Kano, she's learned, is solid detriment in every way. It's better to listen. She does her best, she really does her best. )

"Mmm, I wonder." His voice is traceless, so smooth it's grating. "Well! Don't think I haven't noticed. What's the problem that's eating you so bad, Kido?"

"_I wonder_."

"Man, you steal all my moves," he laughs, stilling by the cabinets, not looking at her either.

"Are you worried?"

"About unoriginality?"

"About us. Me."

"Always."

A pause.

"No lie."

She has to wonder. Because if that were the case, he'd tell her the whole story.

"Hn." She walks right by him, sets dinner down, and leaves. Asking questions gets her nowhere; she'll make it the same for him.

That's the night he leaves again.

(0)(0)(0)

Kano, leisurely and wily, is too congruous with this part of town, Kido thinks. He's a chameleon as much as he is a monkey, as much as he is a lionhearted fool.

She keeps her head down and her steps low, a distance steady even though he wouldn't see a thing if he turned (and he doesn't). He walks with a hop-skip and bounce and it is sickening to watch. Her throat gets tight when she thinks about what is at the other end of the journey, but her pace doesn't hitch even once. She can't stop thinking _no secrets between us, no secrets between us_, an indelible notion. She can't remember its origin—certainly, it wasn't anything they'd ever agreed on.

And usually Kido lets him have his space, lets him walk his ways and move irregularly off the board. She doesn't _police _him on any given day, and yet here she is in a shadow of great embarrassment, tracking him through the unmistakably sketchy parts of town. He'll never have to know if she doesn't deem it necessary. But then she'll be keeping her own secrets, won't she? It's the same as saying, "I don't trust you."

Trust: that was what they had agreed on. From every pinky promise to every plan. Nights when she needed him and she could trust him to be there, to make something deep inside of her sufferable again.

But in the end, what has she ever done for that boy in comparison? Even now, she feels she may be crossing a line.

(That's merely consideration, not hesitation. She'd track him across the city if she had to. She has to catch him. Has to know. If she can't trust him anymore, she'll… )

She halts, because he has turned the telling corner, and Kido knows where he's been going all at once. It doesn't make _sense, _though, but if he slips out of her sight while she's puzzling it out, she'll never forgive herself. She walks after him with a jump start, pace quickened and distance mitigated.

This neighborhood- if it can be called that—brings back spoiled, ugly memories. It makes Kido uneasy. Her chest clenches, and she grips it as she hurries along.

In a few minutes, he'll prove her right and he'll prove her wrong and he'll confuse her utterly. Not unlike any other day. She can at least trust him to do that.

After Ayano's death, which doesn't feel like yesterday by now, but doesn't feel like some distant nightmare either, she, Seto, and Kano left the Tateyamas, or what remained of them—a sad _oji-san_ whom they'd only be burdens to. They left school, too, because what was the use in schooling? Their grades were average or worse, and their friends were bubbly and indifferent, and in the end they only had each other.

This impulse, half made of grief and a mistaken view of self-sufficiency, made them homeless. Having nowhere else to go, nowhere else they wanted to go, they passed a few months in an abandoned warehouse in the outskirts of town, a dead district. There were cold nights, and nights where they went hungry. They would have gotten caught a few times if not for Kido's supernatural abilities, but then, she was ill-suited to life as a squatter.

Some nights, Seto left to stay with his "imaginary friend" in the forest, who turned out to not be imaginary—Kido and Kano, despite their difficulties, still had too much pride to impose on a darling girl like Mary. Those were the nights they started sleeping together, alone, for necessity: huddling for warmth, then speaking secret thoughts. Back then, he wouldn't let her be scared, not about the past, and not about the future.

Seto took the more proactive route and got a job. Then another. And another. Following his example, Kano started working in underground circles, but he always came back perfectly fine with a weighty income, so with a watchful eye on him as caution, Kido and Seto accepted it.

A sad story with a happy ending: Months of work, and Kano slipping under child labor laws, allowed them to leave behind a hard-going stint of homelessness, and that cold abandoned warehouse with it.

But following Kano's trail, Kido finds herself at the gaping doorway there once again. It's even more rickety and decrepit; the paint scraped, the dust overpowering. It is a hot night, and a bad night for discovery, Kido decides, stilling at the doorway as Kano waltzes in like it is natural. The space is illuminated by the starlight and moonbeams, filtering in through those holes in the ceiling. More holes than she remembers.

Filled with an unstoppable fascination now, she watches in silence, tucking her chin into her turtleneck and focusing her eyes in the light. Kano—what is he up to here?  
It'd be a pretty terrible place to meet up with a girl. Oh, she's disgruntled with herself for even thinking of that—

Past his figure, she spots them, on the walls:

Graffiti.

She doesn't think for a second that he is cleaning them up; they are obnoxious, noisy, boistering, much his style. She squints to read, though the dim light and the artistic liberties he took with the characters make it a little difficult.

She's surprised at the artistry, the angry vibrance, the neat finish. When had he even learned to do this so well? As for the words depicted…

"Hide And Seek" "Liar" "Deception" "Sleep Terrors" (Thrice, sprawled on the wall) "Maddening" "Secret" "Snake Eyed" "This Maddening Heat" "You've Been Deceived!"

And those are only the ones she can see by starlight in this expansive, empty place.

Clearly, there is something else going on behind the scenes, even in this place where Kano had laid himself bare.

But even Kido, in all her relentlessness, decides it is enough for one night. It's never really a matter of trust on her side, but rather on his.  
Instead of crawling into bed with her when things became difficult, did he come here and vandalize his woes away? Her mouth opens, closes, dry as sand in the lot.

"That's quite a loud diary," she speaks, neutral and loud enough for her voice to ring. He straightens out slowly, paint can in hand—he hid them here, she supposes, and— and she stares. She can only see the contours of his hoodie, as if he's not really there—a phantom.

When he turns, she sees his smile first, and she knows that's the intent and she clenches her teeth and her hands at the thought of it.

But, mournful, doleful, embittered, he says: "Could you expect anything else from me?"

And she lets go.

"You're not upset with me?" she asks stiffly, getting straight to it. He shakes his head vigorously.

"I almost figured you'd follow me one of these days." Proud, and oddly soft: "I know you, Kido."

That's genuine fondness. Kido doesn't have the means or the reason to question it.

"About that," she says, stepping out from the shadows. "You didn't want to mention that you're an artist?"

"This? This isn't art," Kano laughs, almost bashful, and spreads a hand in front of his mouth to hide the smile the old-fashioned way, as if it's wrong.

"I like it better than your usual antics," she hums, feeling a comfortable wonder at the same time she feels awkwardness. Because they're being open, and she doesn't want to stop, but she doesn't know how to proceed, where to steer discourse constructed of two-sided truths. It's one thing to scream out frustrations or weep out fears, it's another to glance casually inside the rotting depths of someone, or witness a secret unknown.

Kano shrugs and smiles, not pretending to misunderstand. "Lying isn't illegal," he points out, blithe and beaming, like he appreciates something. It emboldens Kido a bit, not that she needs it.

"Don't defend it," she sighs, though it can't be helped.

"I'm only defending myself," he mirrors her sigh, shakes the paint can, holds up a finger. "You know what else is illegal?"

"Violence?"

"Close! Stalking. Both are things that you do now, so let's say we're even?"

She glares at him and he turns away, scoping out the empty space, idly brushing some dust off the surface.

"You're not going to ask anything?" he asks suddenly, still. She thinks about this.

"Only... am I allowed to watch?"

They both stand like statues for a moment, and Kido finds all well with silence for as long as it lasts (which isn't very long, before Kano…)

"Ahh, Kido, not that I don't cherish our time together, but… what are you doing here?"

His eye glints; her mouth twitches.

"Is that a serious face you're showing me?" she asks quietly, as if she can't expend the extra effort, and it's just as wry a smile she makes, joyless and uneasy.

"Who's to say?" he responds, being difficult. "So, where did I slip up?"

"September 4th, at 2 a.m.," Kido recites. "I came into your room, and you weren't there. I worried, you moron."

He scratches his head and his hand lingers—he brings it down as he curls with laughter. It's inappropriate, Kido thinks, it's not a laughing matter.

"That's what had you upset?" he asks, and she lowers her eyes. "Kido!"

"It upset me that I couldn't just ask you," she bites out, breath filtered out steady in a frustrated rush. "It upset me that I knew you would have lied to me about it."

"Maybe I wouldn't have."

"Is that the truth?"

"No. See, you get me."

She feels like it's anything but. "The only thing I want to 'get' is you in a headlock."

But even now, she's relieved, she's so relieved she's just intruding on his private time. She doesn't want to leave him be, though. It's like she's found someone who's been away a long time—just turning on her heels and walking away would be unthinkable.

"Maybe when I come back. Oh, come on, you know the way home. Shoo, shoo, Kido~"

"I needed you." She hopes that's loud enough. She hopes he cares enough. If he's looking at her now, she can't see, she doesn't want to. Looking at Kano is...

"You needed me?"

Solid detriment. In every way.

Shrugging, she raises her gaze the minutest inch, sizes him up with restraint and reserve.

"More or less."

What a mild way of putting something so real. Elaboration won't follow, and Kano, pensive and morose, and in this instant, the farthest thing from infuriating-

"Then I really feel sorry for you."

With a gentleness, uncertain tenderness, a sweet and slow caution... "Why's that?"

His hands raise like he's directing an orchestra, but then there's nothing but falling dust and starlight and silence, the bursts of screaming color splattering the walls. His white grin is clear, and it is so clearly without pride, so empty and so hollow, like all the hues have spilled out from his face to sharpen his vandalism in all its crooked curves and wretched secret meanings. "Do I look like I'm in a position to be needed?"

Viscerally, she thinks, _cowardice. Yet__ here it is, my harsh truth. _And she pities him, in her round-about and flawed way, she really pities him so much.


End file.
